The sort of Western -- self-consciously legendary and shot full of absurdist holes -- that kills interest in all other sorts. Fred Schepisi, the Australian director, displays here a sporadic eye for the Texas landscape and for the movement of light and shadow thereon. This, combined with such other physical assets as the golden-lit hacienda and dust-coated vaquero togs (comfortably worn by Willie Nelson), creates an occasional impression that a decent Western could take place here. But none does. The scenic values are continually dragged down by a convoluted visual style in which events and situations are filled in -- and not always completely -- closeup by closeup, detail by detail. This style is particularly annoying in moments of action, when it would be nice to be able to tell what's happening. The pace, whether because of the microscopic attention to minutiae or the telescopic detachment from the characters, never picks up. With Gary Busey and Gilbert Roland. (1982) — Duncan Shepherd
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